


Bet Your Bottom

by Sintina



Series: Your Brain on Ice [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bets & Wagers, Boys Kissing, Dirty Talk, Emotional Intelligence is Important, Extended Scene, M/M, Rough Kissing, Sexual Humor, Sexy Times, Skin in the Game, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Use Your Words, Who's Your Eros?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 09:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9172873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintina/pseuds/Sintina
Summary: Their first real fight, the kiss and make up, plus a dirty wager for a gold medal.Or: How Victuuri get over their Ep12 hotel room drama to pull off a world record (and Tumblr) breaking happy ending! Plus some post-GPF fun.(follows prior two stories in this series)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was eating me alive!  
> How did Yuri deliver a flawless performance after a bad night with Victor? I hope it went something like this. 
> 
> Don't get me wrong, that finale and the show in its entirety are the best present a fandom could ask for, thank you Kubo sensei and MAPPA. I hope we continue to earn your life and love.
> 
> Name spellings from this site: http://yurionice.com/en/ I love the “uu” and “k”, I’m just used to seeing them this way! <3

“The announcers thought we were crying?” Yuri is shocked as he and Victor make the rounds before leaving the arena for the night. 

“Everyone did!” Phichit nods, grabbing Yuri’s hands between his own, “I was so worried about you!” a quick strangle-hug, then, on the breakaway: “You guys looked pretty emotional from the moment you showed up this morning…?” 

“The emotions were intense,” Victor intones, all seriousness, “We both had _skin_ in the game today...” 

Yuri blanches. “Victor… don’t…”

“Victor DO!” Chris pops up between the lovers, arms around each of their shoulders.

The smile on Victor’s face breaks into an enormous heart as he spins to face Chris and chimes: “We had our first big fight last night!! Then we settled it with a bet!”

“A BET?!” the Swiss’ hands press deep into his cheeks, lips wide in shock. 

“Yes! The future of our relationship was on the line!” Victor’s eyes swell to watery saucers.

Yuri is dying. “Victor! Come on! That wasn’t… we-we weren’t- s-serious?!”

“We absolutely were,” Victor stamps a foot, “And now… it’s time to pay up!” he tugs a deflating Yuri by the back of his shirt collar, dragging him away from the gathering crowd of their competitors and friends.

Phichit scrambles after them and grips Yuri’s forearm, “You can’t just tease a story like that and not tell me more!” 

Victor smirks over his shoulder, “Yuri’s quite good at teasing,” as they head through the door. 

Everyone tries to detain them from getting into a random town car for hire:  
“Where are you two going?!”  
“The hotel’s right next door!”  
“You better not be skipping the banquet!”  


But Victuuri manage to disengage and make their getaway with promises of more details to be shared at the banquet. Once safely ensconced, Victor tells the driver to take a longer, circuitous route to their hotel across the street, handing him a 50 euro note, and shutting the little tinted window. He beams at Yuri. 

“I thought we could use a moment’s reprieve.” 

“It’s your own fault! That's just what I…” Yuri begins. 

“Don’t start,” his coaching voice chides. Then he squeezes Yuri’s shoulders, chirping: “This is a celebration!” 

Yuri can’t help but smirk, Victor is so effing contagious. He rolls his eyes and tries not to laugh while scolding, “You shouldn’t have told them about last night…” 

“They all thought we were crying!” the joy in his voice is irresistible. “Com’n detka, we had to come clean sooner or later!” He interlaces their hands between them. 

“This is all too much for me!” Yuri chuckles, hangs his head, his other hand clutching his silver medal, and he sputters, rather manically: “A-af-fter tonight, I need to sleep for a week!” 

Victor’s smile turns inward, heart swelling to see this perfect man of his. Yuri’s so overcome by emotion and adrenaline, Victor has to say: “I wish I could build you a cocoon, dorogoy,” he leans against Yuri’s shoulder, “I’d curl up with you, away from the world, for that week.” 

Yuri’s eyes water and he leans into Victor, their heads rest together. “Thank you, takara.” He’s too wonderful, Yuri can’t possibly deserve this. Silence settles inside the vehicle, but for the cheesy Christmas music on the radio up front and the rush of traffic outside. 

Finally, as their hotel approaches, Victor kisses Yuri's temple, holds his lips there as they spread into smile. Well, crap, that didn't take long! He breathes against Yuri's skin: "This kiss counts, Yurachka."

Yuri knows what he has to do. “I’m sorry for last night, Vitya.” 

“I appreciate that. I’m sorry, as well,” because Victor knows he’s not innocent in their big misunderstanding. 

“Took you long enough,” Yuri’s shoulders nudge heavily, swaying them both towards Victor’s side of the seat. 

Victor shrugs, “Well, it doesn’t matter now,” a single knuckle under Yuri’s chin leads his jawline up, “You won the bet,” he purrs into Yuri’s chapped lips. Yuri shakes his head softly, closing his eyes, savoring the first taste of his victory. Never has a figure skater more simultaneously regretted _and_ exalted in an epic lovers' quarrel right before a major competition.

\------------------------------------------------------

"How can you tell me to return to the ice while saying you're retiring?!" Victor shakes those damn shoulders with a force that surprises Yuri, who looks up with confusion, but not a hint of apology. Victor hates the dispassionate void in his fiancé’s eyes.

Yuri hates being shaken by the shoulders. If it was anyone else, he'd fight back. Instead, he grips the edge of the bed, squares his clavicle, to resist being pushed backward. Yuri is stupefied by Victor's emotion; the still-streaming tears make no sense. So, Yuri asks: 

"What does my retirement have to do with your comeback?"

"How can you ask me that?!" Victor chokes. In the recesses of his psyche, a reminder chides _You signed on for this. You're engaged to a man with the emotional intelligence of Makkachin._ But that snippy little conscience is ignored, its owner too riled up to listen. "How can you be so unfeeling?!"

She said something like that, too, Yuri remembers. When she tried to hug him in the hospital, all those years ago, in Detroit. But this is Victor. It should be different, yet he feels invaded by this melodramatic onslaught, as well as Victor's apparent assumption that Yuri somehow _deserves_ it. He swallows, trying to think. "I-I don't know what you mean?" 

"How can you _use me_ like this, AGAIN?!" Victor's soaked lashes sprinkle rage tears onto Yuri's knees. 

Dumbfounded, Yuri repeats "U-use you?" 

Victor's nails dig into Yuri's skin through the fabric. The animal in Yuri's mind coils for a spring from its cage.

Yuri's silence, his continued lack of apology, somehow constricts each individual bronchial air sac in Victor's lungs. He can feel himself suffocating, "Yes, dammit! First as your _consolation prize_ at last year's banquet...!" 

"That's n-not, f-fair!" Yuri stammers, shaking his head so that his glasses rattle.

"And then as your... what?! Life coach with benefits?!" Victor's biceps strain to push Yuri down on the bed, drive the point of their intimacy home, but he can't budge Yuri's increased resistance, as the skater's hands shove upward from the mattress. Yuri stands, rolling his shoulders to forcibly remove Victor from his person. Then he grabs Victor's right hand, squeezing the ring finger.

"You know you mean more to me..." 

"Do I?!" Victor yanks his hand from Yuri, tries to take a step back, but his calves hit the window seat. Cornered, he spits: "For you, this was only a good luck token!" but his fingers clench protectively around the ring.

"Exactly! I didn't use you! Victor, you've been in charge this entire time! You showed up as my coach,"

"On your invitation!" 

"That I clearly didn't remember! And you're the one who told everyone it was an engagement ring..."

"You didn't deny it!" 

"How could I?" 

"You wanted to?!" 

"No! Never!" It's Yuri's turn to grab Victor's shoulders, because of the height difference, Yuri clutches the outside of Victor's triceps, squeezing the taller man's arms in against his torso. For revenge, he gives Victor a shake, "My retiring has nothing to do with our personal relationship!" 

Victor's lips draw back in a snarl, "There's never been a distinction before! At the airport, we said I'd coach you until you retired, and it was like a marriage..." 

"Again! You said that! You're the one always blurring the lines on and off the ice!" Yuri lets go of Victor and crosses his arms tight over his chest, afraid of where this is going, but unable to stop defending himself, "I didn't use you! In Japan, you chose to stay, even though I didn't remember the banquet, or you thought I remembered, but it meant nothing to me..." 

"You fought and beat Yurio for me to stay! You were determined not to lose me!" 

Yuri's eyes squint behind his blue rimmed frames, but Victor can see he doesn't have an immediate retort. Victor takes the momentary reprieve as a opportunity to look away, try to control his hateful tears, stop his own lungs from drowning him. Still, not looking at Yuri, his chest insists on rising and falling like an exhausted dog's. Victor's heart shifts gears rapidly in its self-righteous anger. Somehow he knows Yuri's right. Things were mostly professional, only ever hinting at more, until yesterday. The rings, the banquet revelation launching their emotional and physical connection, so fast and sudden, then Yuri's hand-touch on the ice today, probably costing him the gold. This fight was inevitable, really. Fine. Victor inhales long and deep through his nose. He decides to try expressing the root of his anger, “You can’t make decisions that affect my life unilaterally,” Victor sighs, “that’s not how relationships work, Yuri.”

Yuri's not ready for cool-headed discussion yet. "I was considering retirement eight months ago, too! You unilaterally decided I'd compete this season!" The best thing that ever happened to Yuri, and he's throwing it in Victor's face?! How did a conversation he began with an earnest thank you, genuinely _bowing_ appreciation for Victor's irreplaceable, miraculous, coaching, get so effing derailed? And what can he do now?

Feeling like shit, Yuri hangs his head.  
Victor's face remains staring at the wall.  
"Tsk," the Russian's lip curls in disgust before snarking: “You do suck at relationships.”

Yuri's face snaps up. "I'm as experienced with _this_ ," he gestures between them, "as you are with _coaching!_ "

It's so hurtful Victor wants to slap him. The urge is too strong. One hand rises and then twitches into a fist and sinks back to his side.

Yuri watches the fist quiver. Victor can't be near him anymore and stomps away to the other side of the beds to plant himself down on the edge of his own. Victor huffs out a breath. He's still so angry, but unwilling to express it in another pointless verbal attack. He can't take this out on Yuri, like he would any other, more emotionally competent, lover. The story Yuri told on the beach in Japan flashes in Victor's memory. Right. He finally agrees with that tiny conscience voice in the back of his mind. 

Because their beds are pushed together, Victor feels Yuri sit down on the other side, where he sat when this started. As if on cue to Victor's thoughts, Yuri's weak voice admits: "I don't understand why you're so mad." Yuri is helpless. He needs an explanation for this nonsensical drama he feels forced to partake in.

"Okay, Yuri," Victor sighs, leaning back on his hands, refusing to turn around, "How did you expect me to react to this retire-" his voice cracks and, angry at himself, embarrassed, or both, he growls out the rest, " _retirement_ decision of yours? If you didn't expect me to be angry, what did you expect?" 

"I thought you'd be relieved!"

"Because you're such a burden to me?! Dammit Yuri, don't you understand by now..."

"No! Not that... geez Victor... yes, we've been over all that," he pulls his glasses up his forehead just enough to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. "I didn't think you'd be mad because I watched you all day today. I saw you _yearning_ to get back on the ice!" Yuri, exhausted, flops backward onto his bed. From here, he can look up at the back of Victor's head; see the man's profile when he cranes his neck. Yuri readjusts his glasses, looking at the soft folds of Victor's fluffy white robe, in contrast to the hard, tense muscles carving straight angles all through Victor's form. His elbows are clenched, his arms rigid beams at 45 degrees supporting a rot iron spine. Yuri wants to temper the entire image, make Victor's body look comfortable in that robe again. His eyes soften and his voice is gentler. "You need to compete again, takara. I thought you'd be happy that I support your ca-career," he stumbles on the word, because Victor turned to look down at him, still hurt and clearly upset. 

" _Your_ career means more to me!" His eyes plead, mouth begging, "Please reconsider! If you will, I will."

The needful gaze makes Yuri realize this is their first real fight as lovers. He decides the fight at the Rostelecom Cup was more between coach and student. He tries not to smirk, recalling how pissed he was over Victor's terrible coaching that day. Maybe it was inappropriate to feel that way about your coach while performing? Or maybe Victor has a point; it's not like his anger at Victor's inexperience didn't pay off. And who else but Victor could make him cry right before going out on the ice? That cry he needed to win, even if it wasn't Victor's intention. Maybe they can still make this work for another season? He fixes his eyes on the ceiling.

"I don't want to misunderstand you," he tries to smile, and jokes, "as usual." He hears Victor huff. He wants them on the same page if he's going to compromise. "If I reconsider retiring, then you'll...?" Yuri closes his eyes, hoping Victor will say:

"I'll think about my career as well. You were right, Yurachka. Today, I wanted to be on the ice, competing against all of you again."

"I can..." Yuri begins, but bites his lip, "I can w-wait to make this decision until after my..." But there's no way Victor can do it all! Skate and coach and be... everything... to Yuri off the ice. It's impossible! How can Victor not see that? And why can't Yuri just say this fear out loud? Because it makes his chest ache with near-panic. Because he also _wants_ Victor to be coach, competitor, and lover. Yuri slams the side of a fist against his mattress.

Victor sighs. This is not how he expected tonight to go. When they got to the hotel room, he wasted no time pushing their beds together. Yuri giggled at first, then protested meekly, to which Victor promised: 

"Nothing sexual," with a wink and a genuine grin, "I almost fell off your tiny bed last night Yurachka." He finished kicking the frames. "These little things were not made for two," he threw his arms around Yuri's neck, snuggling, "We'll need more room in order to sleep better tonight." Yuri nodded happily and vigorously as Victor got ready to bathe. Victor made good on his word, they weren't going to have sex, he'd even tamped down his desire by jerking off in the shower. How could Yuri let him push the beds together if he was planning to drop such a bombshell? The man's stupid little brain really is compartmentalized! Victor can't live like that. He seethes on his half of their enlarged bed, wishing he'd kept the mattresses separated and contemplates shoving them back apart. But he doesn't want to end the night like this, dammit. 

Yuri can feel the irritation radiating off Victor in waves. He reaches a hand over his head, a single finger pokes at the heel of one of Victor's palms. “Are we going to bed angry?" He swallows, "I may never have been in a real relationship, but I’ve heard that's bad for you.”

“Russians always go to bed angry,” Victor hisses, but doesn't yank his hand away from Yuri's burrowing fingers.

“You’re not a typical Russian.”

“How would you know?” He immediately regrets that one. His heart snapped it out, because with each beat, it begs: _“You should’ve known this would hurt me, make me cry!”_ But should Yuri have known? Victor can’t tell if the disconnect is his fault or Yuri’s, anymore. "I... I didn't mean that." 

Yuri takes off his glasses, lays them on the foot of the mattress, and rolls over onto his stomach. He fully grabs the hand he'd been playing with. He squeezes. 

"We… we'll each make our career decisions after the competition. A-agreed?" 

"Agreed." Victor sniffles, his face relaxing with relief as he looks down. 

Yuri’s dark eyes are far away, and he sighs, mournful. Yuri's still convinced Victor blurs the lines too far. Who they are on the ice and off needs to be distinct, or they'll never make it, right? Or has he been lying to himself this whole time? He's not going to talk about that now; maybe tomorrow, afterward. Right now, he wants the hurt to go away; and can't think of anything else to do or say, but:

"Kiss me, takara, please?" 

"You don't deserve it," Victor grumbles. But his shoulders soften, he drops down to his elbows, hovering just above Yuri's level on the bed. 

The skater smirks, "Neither do you,” and grips the open lapel of Victor’s robe, pulls him down, reaching for him with his lips. 

"So, you're not apologizing to me, then?" Victor clarifies.

Eros dances in Yuri's eyes. "Not if you don’t." Yuri’s hand traces up Victor’s neck, just under the flap of the soft, puffy fabric.

Their noses nuzzle. Victor smiles, "I will kiss you tonight, but not again until you have a gold medal for me." 

Yuri grins against Victor’s lips "Wanna bet, _coach_?!” and takes Victor's mouth, hard, almost biting him with the ferocity of it. Their teeth even clack on impact. Victor rolls toward Yuri in the kiss. It’s awkward, as their legs dangle over their respective sides of the pushed-together beds, their faces meeting in the middle. They’re both diving off the cliffs of anger into one another's mouths, not being gentle, fists bunch in hair and fabric. 

Victor’s mind whirls, but one clear thought shoots through: “YES!” he blurts and pushes Yuri away, pulls his legs up on the bed, underneath himself. _Hmph, if this little punk can't figure out how to apologize on his own, might as well make it interesting_ "Yes. I want to BET." Yuri tries to re-instigate the kiss, Victor keeps shying away. "No more kissing until we define this wager of yours!" 

"Victor..."

"I love to gamble like this! When it means something. Reminds me of Hot Springs on Ice!"

"You barely remembered _that_ wager on the day of the event!"

"Details. Detka." He waggles a finger. "This is more important. I'd already made up my mind to stay and coach you in Japan long before you took the ice, that day." 

"What?!?!?!!" Yuri launches up from the bed, knocking his glasses to the floor. 

Victor clucks, grinning. "Of course. If Yurio had skated better than you, I simply would have refused his request," it's wonderful to see Yuri come apart at this new information, "I'd have said you need my coaching more than he does or some ego-stroking thing like that." Victor reaches a hand to graze his knuckles over Yuri's cheek. "I never would've left your side. I was already too enthralled."

Yuri reaches down to retrieve his glasses. Crawls over to set them on the bedside table. "I put so much into that... to keep you..." 

"Exactly! Let's see what you'll do to win me that gold, hum?"

"Victor..." there's a hint of threat in Yuri's voice as he prowls towards his lover, ready to pounce, he doesn't hate this game Victor's started. "Mathematically, you know a gold is near impossible, right?"

"That's what makes this interesting!" 

"It's a bet you can't win, Vitya." Eros crawls his upper body over Victor's, leaning the Russian back against the headboard. "You're 'enthralled,' remember? Even if I miss the podium, you _will_ kiss me." Yuri's face descends toward Victor's exposed neckline.

"We'll sweeten the deal! Throw apologizing first in the pot!"

"What?!" Yuri pops back up, before making contact with Victor's flesh. "Apologize?" 

"If you don't get gold tomorrow, and I cave and kiss you anyway, you will apologize first for the way you carelessly started this fight and never understood how much it hurt me." Victor pouts, head turning away, arms crossed over his chest, blocking Yuri's advances, in a sulk. 

Yuri's voice rumbles, "Then if I lose and you don't kiss me..?"

"I apologize first. Yes. For emotionally attacking you tonight..." 

"And for shaking me," Yuri's eyes darken, "Don't ever do that again," he softens, "please?" sits back to grin at his lover. "This wager is complex, Vitya." Yuri loves it though.

Victor's heart shaped smile widens and his hands come together in an enthusiastic clap: "Still one more position to discuss!"

"Position, hmm?" He straddles Victor, sitting in his lap. 

Victor's face is teasing, cruel. "Yes. THE position. Yuri, if you don't win gold tomorrow, and I kiss you anyway, the first time we make love, you get to choose who takes who."

Yuri leans back, Eros draining out of his features, replaced by a deep red blush. "V-victor... that's... I mean, a-aren't you naturally inclined one way or...?" it's too much to hope that Victor's a switch hitter.

"I am," he winks, "but I'd try anything with you, dorogoy!" Victor leans forward, "If I win this bet, for our first time, you succumb to my exhibitionist cravings. I take you in public, Yuri. That's what I want." His lover actually yelps, entire body tensing up. Victor runs a finger over Yuri's chest, then pokes his sternum."What about you?"

Silence. A shiver overtakes Yuri and his knees start to edge away from Victor's lap.

Victor reaches for him, grips his waistline. "No running away. What do you imagine when you think of us?" A hand fondles downward, but dares not graze Yuri's growing erection. He knows it's there, but will pretend, for now, that he doesn't. He palms the inside of Yuri's thigh instead. "Am I inside you or are you inside of me?" Victor always assumed he'd be taking Yuri, but never had the opportunity to ask. The skater seemed compliant enough last night.

Yuri is so embarrassed, he can't word good. He squirms in Victor's hold, trying to get away.

"Hmmm?" Victor goads with a roll of his hips.

_Screw this night. Oh man, this effing day and this horrible night!_

"I...I want it both ways!"

"Ooh!" How did Victor not expect that? "My gluttonous piggy!" He tries to pinch the too-tight skin where Yuri's belly fat used to be.

The teasing hardens Yuri's resolve. His determined eyes lock on Victor. "If I don't win gold tomorrow, I bet you kiss me anyway, within 24 hours. And if you do, I will apologize first. And... we... when we... finally..."

"You get me both ways," those eyes are lust made flesh, "Yes." Victor loves the satisfied grin that runs up Yuri's cheeks. The skater looks so pleased with himself. This is more like it. This is how Victor expected tonight to go. He pulls Yuri to his chest, cradling him, loving him so much. A hand rests on Yuri's crown, fingers lightly circling in his hair.

Yuri sighs, his arms lace behind Victor's back, smushed against the headboard. He nuzzles. He feels so much better. It's dumb, this whole bet is silly. But it helps. He feels Victor's chest rise and fall, about to say something else. He looks up. 

"One request, detka, if you win?" Victor's cheeks flush just a bit, "I take you first, then it's your turn. I'm an old man, I don't have the stamina to fuck anyone after being thoroughly fucked. But I know you do, Yurachka."

Yuri's eyes darken at Victor's dirty mouth, but he pushes up from the headboard, laughing, his face shining with the compliment and all its possibilities. "Agreed." He bobs his head, hair falling in his face.

"And if you don't win gold tomorrow," Victor's expression changes, his thumbs dig into Yuri's thighs, pulling his lover in, their groins flush, wishing Yuri wasn't still fully clothed, "And I maintain my resolve, refuse to kiss you for 24 hours," his lids lower, moist lips teasing, "Then I get to take that ass of yours somewhere public, where fans or friends or paparazzi might find us. Our first time will be as dirty and dangerous and daring as the night you seduced me at last year's banquet." He thrusts for emphasis on each of the 'd' words and Yuri might cum his pants. Victor kisses him, slow and deep, as Yuri grinds. On the breakaway, Victor adds as an afterthought, "And, oh yeah, I apologize first, too." 

Yuri shudders, overcome. But he straightens again, muscles flexing, thighs clenching around Victor. This stupid wager blurs the lines more than anything so far. But he's played along, hasn't he? And liked it. He knows this is a bet he can't lose. Victor only did all this to loosen the tension, heal them both so they can sleep off the fight.  
Not go to bed angry.  
Help him win tomorrow.  
And he loves Victor so much for it, there's no way to express his gratitude.  
"Deal." He whispers. 

They kiss on it, a peck on the lips. "But what if I do actually bring home the gold?"

"Then all bets are off. We'll both be too overcome to stick to anything we've said or done here tonight."

It's funny because it's true and Yuri melts with the knowledge of it, the joy of the promise.

Giddy with relieved tension, the lovers kiss and cuddle and tease another half hour away. They strip each other playfully, each article of clothing a chip on the table of their gamble. Every time either grazes a tingling bit of genitalia, they chide: 

"Ah, ah, ah, only for the gold!" 

Each kiss is their "last kiss until the gold," and so on, until they can't stand the idiocy of it anymore. With feverish hands and eager, wet mouths, they hurriedly get each other off, before cuddling together to sleep. Neither caring that no apologies were given and nothing about their argument was resolved. It doesn't matter now. Only winning matters.

\--------------------------------------

Kissing and making up is possible without feeling much better the next day. The alarm is a knife through their fitful slumber. They rouse together, Yuri on his stomach, Victor on his back, various limbs braided. There's mutual annoyance upon waking, then the comfort of one another's touch, the knowledge they've slept entangled. But when consciousness kicks in, they both tense up. It's post-fight resentment, the weight of anger and hurt still sore in the muscles; both minds nagging with recalled grievances.

Victor inhales heavy and exhales loud. Yuri's arms flex around his pillow, squeezing, his face turned away. This feeling is so alien. Waking up regretful, frustrated, but still so in love with the person whose limbs are inter-splayed with yours. So in love that it pisses you off! Especially when the guy chirps a pleasant and fake:

"Good morning, Yuri!" as he sits up and stretches his torso, arms high above his head. Yuri turns to watch the spectacle of those back muscles straining and joints popping. 

He smiles because he can't help it. "Good morning, Victor." 

Victor gives his right ass cheek a soft slap through the sheets. "You ready to win me a gold today?" 

"Math, Victor, math." Yuri grumbles, but with his silly smile still on as he reaches for his glasses. 

"Nonsense!" Victor beams, "You want me to kiss you today, right?" He's feeling some pent up angst, still tastes his own tears in the back of his throat. But he chooses to ignore it for the moment, start the day right. He watches Yuri sluggishly flop his legs off the side of the bed and an idea strikes him. He hangs his head, fearing rejection, and quietly asks, "May I shower with you?"

Yuri wasn't expecting that timid voice. And especially not the request. His morning wood twinges, perky with interest. Then a chill runs over him, afraid to say either yes or no. He looks at Victor over his shoulder with a question in his eyes. 

"Nothing sexual," Victor promises, hands raised in defense. "Just for efficiency, get out the door on time?" 

"How romantic," Yuri snorts, standing, eyes interrogating behind his glasses, "you showered last night, though?"

Victor wants to reach and fix his glasses, which are just barely askew. Instead, he swallows, face dropping again when he admits: "I want to be close to you. We haven't bathed together since Japan. I miss it." 

Yuri half smiles at the memories. He ruffles a hand over his brow into his bangs. _We weren't fiances or lovers in Japan,_ Yuri's helpful head-bully protests. His Agape answers soft instead: "The intimacy is nice." Victor's eyes glisten like they may water, he stands and reaches for Yuri's hand. Yuri accepts it and squeezes. "Nothing sexual," he agrees.

As promised, they exchange harmless smirks and flirtatious stares at one another's half-chubs as they fully undress, but respect each other's space and don't attempt to fondle one another, even playfully. Soon, routine AM erections subside with the frigidity of the bathroom tile underfoot and the satisfying first-thing-in-the-morning pee. Yuri runs the water to get it hot, holding his hand under the stream. Victor steps into the shower before the water's fully warm and wets his hair. They wash up in relative silence, both basking in the comfort of this simple shared activity. 

Yuri has to admit, this was a good Victor idea. In appreciation, while Victor scrubs his face under the stream, Yuri surprises him by reaching up with sudsy hands and massaging his beautiful, sinewy shoulders with a few good, deep palpitations. Victor leans back into Yuri's massage, his head falling out of the water, hair dripping between them. Yuri smiles and gives a final squeeze. Then tugs at Victor to get out of the water. They switch places silently, with exchanged smiles. As Yuri washes his underarms, Victor takes advantage of that unguarded waistline to wrap his arms lightly around, not bringing their bodies together, but keeping his distance in the gentle hug. Yuri hums and leans the back of his head onto Victor's shoulder. 

They both close their eyes and stand like this a moment. The water and suds gurgle down the drain. Yuri has an apology in his throat that never surfaces, because he's still confident he made the right decision and Victor overreacted. Victor's lips tremor to beg Yuri once more not to retire, but he bites them shut. They stand apart and together, a few moments more, words unspoken lingering in the steamy gap between their naked bodies.

They make small talk as they dress, leave the hotel, and enter the stadium. The unresolved issues tug and sway as a chain between their bodies. Their silence, tinted with a professional respect to avoid voicing anything so close to competition, lingers as they recite their interview answers by rote. 

Yuri 'tsks' when he hears the newscasters report how he and Victor are low energy this morning. He’ll show them energy! What's wrong with conserving all your emotion, all your fears and frustrations, joys and tears, for one all-encompassing shout-out to your fiance and the universe: I'm done with this life! But I'm going out on top, dammit! He'll show them all. 

Victor knows the chain must be broken rink-side. Yuri can't go out there like this. He scolds Yuri for his lack of a gold medal, and Yuri's eyes question if Victor's actually hinting at their wager. There's too many people, too much attention on them at this moment! But Victor is merciless, pulling him close to whisper:

"If you win gold, we renegotiate, and our first time won't be in the hotel pool, in broad daylight!"

Yuri hisses back: "If I win gold, I'll still take you both ways!"

Their laughter trembles as they embrace. It's too raw, all of this, but it's going to be okay. No matter what. Their gilded fingers part with that certainty.

Midway through, he knows. He's not done. He can't be done. As he gasps center ice, arm outstretched toward Victor, his heart pounds the reality through his ribs. _I'm not done yet!_ Damn, Victor was right. Will he ever live this one down? Well, he's not returning to competition without Victor, that much he can demand. Because this was a gold medal performance. All bets are off. Victor needs to skate again. They both need this. The thrill of competing against Victor, on and off the ice, sizzles Yuri's being as he screams triumph to the entire stadium.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the banquet, they’re walking zigzags down the cavernous corridors of the grand hotel, lazily not heading for the elevators, just yet. They're somewhat inebriated, heavy-lidded and exhausted, not the least bit horny, but mutually afraid to go to their room right now. Not wanting this to end. They divert out onto a narrow veranda overlooking a narrower garden between the hotel and the next building, the plants covered in snow, leaves dark in the night stick out like spades through the layer of slush. 

“Let’s not go up yet, takara,” Yuri snuggles into Victor, against the cold, “Let’s take a walk?” 

“Where to?” he asks as they trundle down the stairs, still holding one another. 

“You said you walked to the beach yesterday. Are there benches to sit?” 

“Yes. On the boardwalk,” he pulls Yuri closer, “I think you’ll be too cold out on the beach itself.” 

Leaning over the railing, watching the sea together, Yuri inhales.  
"Victor, I want to ask you something that’s been bugging me all night."

"Yes, detka?"

"How can you possibly coach me and compete against me? That seems like a conflict of interest, doesn't it?" 

“We’re not lawyers, love,” he grins. "Besides, you won't get five gold medals with any other coach." 

"Well, _you_ can't give me your best competitive self while also coaching me." 

"Ha! You doubt my ability to multi-task?" he hugs into his lover's side, "After how well I balanced coaching and all our cheesy romantic comedy misunderstandings this season?"

Yuri shakes his head, "You said so yourself! You're nervous about it too! You don't have to do this..." 

"But I want to." 

_How is that any less selfish than my announcing the decision to retire last night?_ Yuri almost snaps a response to mimic Victor's 'unilateral decision' complaint, but he doesn't want to start the fight again. He’s too happy, too proud of himself. He hates fighting with Victor and he's bad at it. He obviously lost this one, completely. But he also won. He knows that. He’s skating again next year with Victor as a competitor! In a way, it's more exciting than having sex with Victor for the first time. Oh yeah, that was a point he DID want to discuss: 

"How can you coach and compete against me on the ice and..." he can't form the words. 

"Still love you, live with you, off the ice?" 

Yuri's original point is lost in the surprise: "Y-you want to," he gasps out the word, " _live_ together?" 

"More than anything, detka," and he grins, "maybe not _anything_ ," his hand glides down to Yuri's backside. 

That's it. That's it right there, just as a roaming thumb is about to slide under the lip of his pants, Yuri grabs Victor's hand, holds it away, looks him hard in the eye, "I can't fuck my coach, Victor." 

Victor's eyes dazzle with joy at hearing Yuri curse. He licks his lips, squeezes the hand holding his own, flexes his arm to pull Yuri close. He stops himself from saying ‘wanna bet?’ and decides on: "We'll see about that, won't we?" lips curling wickedly. 

Yuri hates and loves this challenge. He hears his own throat answer Victor with a growl. He pulls Victor in the rest of the way to pound his mouth with an unrelenting assault, a portend of how insane this next year will be for them, if Victor gets his way. And hell, Yuri's already allowed Victor to get away with this mad scheme. In fact, Yuri has let Victor dictate every step of their relationship but the very first one- the night at the banquet he doesn't remember. His mouth and lips and tongue move with aggression. He feels Victor succumb, rather than rise to meet him, and his pride swells in his pants. Yuri pulls Victor chest to chest, his hand grips the nape of Victor's neck. He pushes them into the nearest bench. Yuri rises up on one knee, so his face is above Victor's, his mouth plowing down. Victor begins moaning, clinging, his tongue and lips only barely responding, more like swallowing, trying to breathe and survive the kiss. There's even teeth in Yuri's demands, he gnaws from time to time on the tip of Victor's tongue, then his bottom lip, and when he draws blood by accident, he sucks, taking that too. 

Somewhere in the back of his skull, Yuri’s head-bully issues a bitchy warning about this. _Victor’s never lost at anything in his life. He thinks he can do it all, and, so far, he has. But he can’t!_ Eros rises up and slaps that inner coward. No matter what, even if Yuri is right about how hard it will be to maintain a three-fold relationship with this man, and keep all three sides magically intact, it doesn't matter. Not now. And it won't matter later. They'll get through it. They can do effing anything together! He proved that today. And right here, in this kiss, he's proving that if the pressure of being lovers, competitors, and coach/student is too much, the lovers leg of that stool will not fall. He will not let it. He'll retire or fire Victor first, in order to keep Victor like this.

Damn. Just. Like. This. 

His childhood hero is pawing at his shoulder blades, because, due to the banquet's dress layers plus winter coats, there’s not much purchase for friction on Yuri’s body. The flawless face in all his bedroom posters is rubbing that ass against the bench, scooching back and forth as Yuri laps in and out of his mouth, with unquenchable thirst. To keep Victor's body, his heart, this needful-ness, for himself, he'll sacrifice their time on the ice. He tried to explain that last night and failed. He tried to nail the point home in his free skate and it backfired for them both. Now he wants to compete against Victor more than ever! He beat his pinup's world record! And he's going to hold onto that record. Victor will not break it. Just like he can't break this kiss.

After several minutes, it finally, fully ends. The lovers and competitors, the coach and student, gasp for air, clouds of chilled breath billowing between them.

Victor coughs a raspy laugh, "I never imagined I could have a year... better than this last one..."

"But next year, Victor?" Yuri smirks, nodding a cocky chin upwards in question. 

Victor's twinkling eyes are all the answer either of them need.

................

**Author's Note:**

> There's a ton more dirty talking and less dirty actions than I expected when I sat down to write twelve days ago. 
> 
> Just means the next story is pure, unadulterated, sticky sinnamon rolls of smut for their first time(s). What would you like to see? 
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading, I hope it was a good, please let me know in the comments and kudos.  
> I recommend my favorite YOI fics at [Twitter @Sintinas](https://twitter.com/Sintinas)
> 
> Happy New Year! We were born to ship Victuuri! ~ Sintina


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